A Sorta Fairtyale
by Sister Janet
Summary: In this version, Jack, Rose, and Cal grow up spending summers together. Jack and Rose's childhood friendship becomes something more, but the same obstacles await them.


_June 1903_

_Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin _

Ruth looked around warily, her nose wrinkled in disgust. Her gloves, snow white when they left Philadelphia, were now brown with dust. Her hair felt heavy against her neck. The curls she tried so hard to control threatened to tumble down her back. It would have been easier to just cut it, but that was out of the question—no matter how hot the summer proved to be. She straightened her back and wiped the sweat from her face. The handkerchief was beyond cleaning; it would simply have to be thrown away—or perhaps, given to one of the lower servants. She forced herself to smile as Richard approached.

"So, you made it after all," he said jovially. He took her hands and kissed them. "I was beginning to worry when you weren't on the morning train." Ruth's voice was quiet without being soft. "My telegram said I would arrive in the afternoon," she said. "But, I'm sure you had other things on your mind." Richard's features tensed for a moment before settling into a slight smile. "Shall we go?" he asked, offering her his arm. "The driver is waiting."

Ignoring the rattling of the carriage as they hurtled along the road was impossible. Ruth clutched her handbag, sure she would fly through the air at any moment. "The Hockleys have come up," Richard said. "They've taken a house near ours. The Morrisons are back again, along with a few others. I expect most everyone from our set will be here at least once before the summer ends. The whole area is really expanding," he continued. "Coming right into the twentieth century. In a few years, living here year round might actually be possible." He laughed at her shocked look. "Not for us, of course."

….

Scowling, Rose gathered her hair in one hand and tied a ribbon around it with the other. "I hate my hair," she said, tossing it over her shoulder. The ribbon was already sliding out of her curls. "I like it," Jack said, looking up from his sketch. "It's pretty."

"You wouldn't like it if you had to carry it around every day," she replied. "It won't do anything it's supposed to, and Nathalie blames me when it's tangled and needs to be washed again."

"You could just stay indoors," Jack suggested. "That's where you're supposed to be." Rose narrowed her eyes at him. "If you don't want me around, that's fine," she snapped, turning on her heel. She tossed her head and began walking quickly away; the ribbon fluttered to the ground. "Wait," Jack said, following her. He scooped up the ribbon. "You know I was joking," he said. "Don't go yet." She stopped walking but didn't respond. "Let me tie your hair back," he offered. "It'll stay this time."

"Do you promise?"

"Yeah, I promise."

Jack combed through her curls with his fingers, gently undoing each tangle. It was warm from the sun and shone like new pennies. He covered the knot with a bow. "There," he said. "Thank you," Rose said, grinning happily. For a second, all Jack could do was look at her. He didn't know why; it wasn't just that she was pretty. He knew lots of pretty girls his own age, and most of those didn't leave at the end of the summer. He knew lots of girls who were easier to get along with, who didn't cry or go home when things didn't go their way. And yet, he was drawn to her. For two years, he had eagerly awaited her family's arrival, hoping she hadn't forgotten him.

….

Rose ran into the house and up the back stairs. Her shoes were ruined, and her dress was torn. A sunburn covered her arms, face, and neck. There would be no hiding that, but perhaps she could hide the outfit before Nathalie saw it. She could say those particular things hadn't made it into her trunk. There wasn't very much variety in her wardrobe anyway; one white dress could serve for another.

"There you are!" Nathalie cried when the opened the door to her room. "I have been looking everywhere for you!" She grabbed Rose by the hand and closed the door. "Your mother is here," she added in a low voice, quickly steering Rose into her dressing room. "What were you doing?" Nathalie demanded. "Just change," she ordered, her annoyance overshadowed by fear of Ruth's reprimands. "What have you done to your beautiful complexion?" she continued. "There's no getting it back now, and don't think your mother won't notice."

"I don't care," Rose said. "She'll be gone next week."

Nathalie shook her head. "She's staying at least a month, and she's already talking about how lax things are when she's not around." Nathalie cocked her head to one side and studied Rose. "Well, at least your hair is still in order," she said, brushing a hand over her own perfectly arranged locks. "You had better go downstairs. She's in the front sitting room waiting for you."

Rose walked slowly, deliberately placing both feet on each step before going on to the next one. Already, she heard the clinking of her mother's tea cup against its saucer. Ruth's perfectly pitched, "for the servants" voice drifted through the open door. As Rose neared, two maids and the cook hurried out.

"Finally, you arrive," Ruth said. "I was beginning to wonder if that Frenchwoman hadn't let you drown in the lake." Her laugh echoed in the empty room. An awkward silence settled over them. "Come sit down," Ruth said, indicating the chair across from her. She shook her head as Rose neared. "You've been out in the sun without a hat," she said. "Why that woman even lets you go out at all—" She stopped herself. "Well, that doesn't matter now I'm here. Have you had your tea?" Rose shook her head. "Of course not," Ruth said, ringing for a servant.

…..

"Jack, where have you been?" The sound of his mother's voice stopped him in his tracks. "Nowhere," he said. "Just out—around the lake."

"You had better not be going up the lake again like you did last summer," she said, crossing her arms. At 5'8, Gloria Dawson was an imposing woman, and she was especially so to the eleven-year-old Jack. "I wasn't," he said, hoping she believed him. She studied his face for a moment. "Alright," she said finally. "Go get cleaned up. Your father'll be home from the store any minute."

Once he was safely alone in his room, Jack took the drawing from his pocket and carefully unrolled it. He placed books on its edges to keep them from curling up. He studied each detail, trying to see everything he had done wrong. Most of the time, he found a lot of mistakes, but this one wasn't so bad. He allowed himself to hope that his skills might actually be improving. Or maybe it was just because it was a portrait of Rose.

…

"Looks like even more people are coming up this summer," Nick said. "We should get a lot of business at the store." His hazel eyes settled on Jack. "I might need you to come down and help," he added. Jack pretended not to hear. The threat of working in his father's store loomed larger than ever, and although he knew he couldn't put it off forever, he just hoped escaping in a few years wouldn't become impossible. "You've been saying that for three years," Gloria said, "And I haven't seen where business has improved all that much since those people started coming. They bring everything they need with them. What is there to come to you for?"

"Not everything," Nick answered. "There's lotsa things they forget or run out of. It's whole lot easier to send one their servants down to Main Street than back to whatever city they came from."

"I don't see why they need servants," Gloria sniffed. "None of those families are big enough for those houses anyway. Why waste money paying someone else to clean what they don't need?"

"Now, Gloria, you've got that Williams girl," Nick reminded her. "She comes every day."

"That's different. _I _actually need help with things around here." Jack tried to ignore the bitter edge in his mother's voice. "I don't get to spend my days drinking tea and going visiting." Nick's jaw tightened. "Is now really the time to get into this, Gloria?"

Silently, Jack slipped from the table and went to finish his drawing.

…..

Rose's scalp ached. The brushing her hair received after Ruth's scolding of Nathalie seemed more like a punishment than grooming. Unable to untie Jack's knot, Nathalie had to resort to cutting the ribbon from her hair. Polite dinner conversation flowed around her, but no-one seemed to notice she was there. Rose glanced around the table. Her father sat at the head, to her right, and her mother to her left. Mr. Morrison and Mr. Hockley were seated adjacent to her father, with their wives adjacent to her mother. The Hockley's son Caledon sat across from her.

Feeling his gaze on her, Rose stared up at him defiantly. Cal allowed himself a slight smile. There was something intriguing about this girl, even if she was far too young to be of any real interest.

Ruth led the stream of chatter on the women's end, but her focus wasn't on the conversation. Her gaze moved from Julia Morrison to Richard, watching for any illicit glances or untoward smiles. It would be foolish to try such things with her husband in the room, but Richard, as she well knew, had a strong foolish streak. Julia's blue eyes sparkled as she pretended to care deeply about the latest fashions. Her soft blonde hair was arranged perfectly. A wave of exhaustion settled over Ruth. Beauty had never been her gift, but until recently, she hadn't cared very much. Her talent was for arranging things—people, events, households, and that was more useful than a pretty face.

Holding back a sigh, Ruth turned to Rose. At least _she_ would never know this feeling. She had always been beautiful, and it was clear she would only become more so as she matured. Already, Ruth noted with satisfaction, it was drawing the attention of eligible young men. If only, she thought, looking from Rose to Cal, this were an age of arranged childhood marriage.


End file.
